


Just One Last Night (Let's Pretend We're All Right)

by tekmessa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Spoiler - 2x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tekmessa/pseuds/tekmessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia doesn't want to be alone. Being alone isn't safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Last Night (Let's Pretend We're All Right)

Eventually Lydia pulls herself together. Or, at least, she manages to stand up and leave the ruin of a house she's in. Her legs shake and tremble when she steps outside, and it's only then that she recognizes the place as the Hale residence, a house that had been destroyed in a fire six years ago.

What is she doing here?

She doesn't really want to know the answer to that particular question or to the one that would make her ask why her hands are dirty and her nails broken. It scares her, that memory, or rather the strange flashes of foreign memories and hallucinations that hit her sometimes these days.

And now that man. That boy. That man.

She presses her hand against her chest and tries to breathe. _Steady. Calm. Don't flip out, Lydia. Just because we can't stand to be in the same room anymore doesn't mean you have to make a scene now. Just breathe and calm down. You aren't a small child anymore, so act like it. Don't be an embarrassment._

She blinks, but this time there aren't tears to blink away. Her eyes are dry. Apparently, she doesn't have any tears left.

_Don't flip out, Lydia._

_No!_

No, that's wrong. That's not what she should be thinking about. Her parents' divorce has nothing to do with this. Just because she wasn't allowed to scream and rage back then doesn't mean that she can't do it now.

Hallucinating a man ... a boy ... a burned man - that's a good reason to freak out.

_Isn't it?_

She doesn't know.

She doesn't know anything.

She doesn't know anything except that she's all alone and most likely crazy.

Crazy.

Not even her hallucinations are pretending anymore that she's sane. They called her out on it and told her the cold, hard facts today.

She's crazy.

And alone.

A shudder runs through her body, and it's cold being out in the woods, especially since she isn't wearing any shoes.

_Alone._

Lydia doesn't want to be alone anymore.

But it cannot be helped. She has nowhere to go.

Or rather, no one.

Her mother is out of town for a conference, her father is probably busy sleeping with his secretary, and Allison sends her away every time she goes and tries to talk with her.

Lydia doesn't have anyone.

She doesn't have anywhere to go.

And if she goes home, she will see that man again.

Stumbling over a root, Lydia hiccups a desperate snort because, _really_? No matter where she'll go, she'll see that man or that boy or that creature just anywhere.

Yet she thinks that if she had a distraction, if she had company, if she had anyone at all, maybe the nightmare would stay away. Even if it was only for one night.

*

"Oh, hello, Lydia. It's good to see you again. You haven't been around much in the last weeks," Mrs. Whittemore says with a genuine smile when she opens the door. She's styled for an evening out in a dream of a golden dress, and standing a few feet behind her is Mr. Whittemore, dressed in a tuxedo.

Lydia swallows, but she keeps her smile firmly in place. "Hi, Mrs. Whittemore. Mr. Whittemore."

"Do come in," Mr. Whittemore says, only glancing at her quickly before he goes back to fixing his cufflinks with little success. "Jackson isn't home right now and we're going out, but if you want to stay and wait for him, you can. You know where everything is."

"Thank you," Lydia says, "I'd like that."

"Let me do that for you, David." Mrs. Whittemore walks over to her husband and takes care of his cufflinks with steady, experienced fingers.

Lydia watches them and their expressions, the way they smile at each other and are comfortable around one another. They are talking about dinner - apparently a charity event - and Mrs. Whittemore laughs when Mr. Whittemore promises her that she won't be bored this time.

"He says that every time," she tells Lydia with a wink, "and it's always a lie."

"One day it won't be, I promise." Mr. Whittemore holds the door open for his wife and she laughs at him, stepping outside. "Have fun, Lydia. I hope Jackson won't let you wait too long. If he does, though, tell me and I'll have words with him." His eyes are shining with good humor, and Lydia has always liked Jackson's parents.

"Thank you. Have a nice evening," she says and waits until the door is closed behind them before she allows her shoulders to sag and her smile to slip away.

Thank God, they haven't noticed anything. Thank God, they haven't looked at her feet, which are still bare.

But Lydia has learned from her mother that as long as you appear to be self-confident and in control of the situation, no one will question you. Everyone will assume that you have very important reasons for really anything you're doing and not even ask for them.

Unless someone points it out and shatters the illusion.

_The Emperor's New Clothes._

Lydia is living that fairy tale and so far there hasn't been a child like that in her life, only in her hallucinations.

Lydia presses her lips into a tight line and shakes the thought away. She won't think about that. Not here. Not now. Not tonight.

Slowly she walks through the house she's almost as familiar with as she is with her mother's or her father's, and she heads for Jackson's room. Opening the door, she finds that nothing has changed. It still looks as empty and impersonal as it has always been. Jackson has never been fond of mementos and keepsakes. Even the awards and prizes he has won, he has always given to his parents. They can be found everywhere in the house, of course, because Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore are very proud of him. However, almost none of them are in Jackson's room because he considers everything worthless the moment he has earned it despite the hours and days he has invested in gaining an award in the first place.

When they had been together, Lydia had used to tease him about it, but she'd also used to agree with his attitude and to say that it was for the best if he always strove for something more and didn't risk getting stuck by reveling too long in an achievement that could be outdone.

There had always been something more, and they had never rested because she had pushed him to his limits and he had pushed himself even harder.

Until he had decided to drop some dead weight to get even farther.

Lydia bites her lip, looks around and wonders if dumping her has worked out for him.

The thought is unbidden and unwanted, and Lydia shakes her head with determination.

It doesn't matter. That's not why she's here.

With a glance towards the door, Lydia lets her vest slide from her shoulders to the floor and reaches for the zipper of her dress.

*

Jackson comes home an hour later. Lydia hears noises downstairs and wonders if maybe Jackson will stay there, eat and watch TV or something, but then she hears the familiar rhythm of the sound of his steps and the door to his room is opened.

Jackson looks like hell has frozen over. The line of his shoulders is tense and he's covering his eyes with his right hand, rubbing his temples with his fingers. Without looking around, he closes the door with his left hand and then he leans against the door for a moment and breathes.

In. Out. In. Out.

His lips twist like he's feeling a desperation that's similar to Lydia's, and Lydia starts to doubt her decision to come here. Jackson wouldn't have wanted her to see him like this, he wouldn't have wanted _anyone_ to see him like this, and she doesn't want to upset him even more.

But it's too late to regret, too late to change anything. Lydia's already here and she'll have to deal with whatever reaction Jackson will have to seeing her in his bed. She'll have to face it even if he shouts at her again.

She doesn't want him to, though.

She wants ...

Embarrassed she looks down at her hands, at her broken nails, and resolutely doesn't think about the dirt she had scrubbed away before she had knocked on the front door.

She's _not_ thinking about that.

Not tonight.

"Lydia?" Jackson asks suddenly, and he sounds startled and disbelieving, but not angry or dismissive, not yet.

Lydia makes a face at her hands and tries to smile properly when she lifts her head and meets his eyes. He's still next to the door, but he's staring at her with wide, blue eyes, obviously taking in her appearance in surprise, and he's frowning.

"What are you doing here?" he asks eventually, breaking the silence between them.

"I," Lydia says, and suddenly it seems like all of it has been a horrible idea. "Your parents let me in and I, um -" She's struggling to find the words. That can't be. She has always rolled her eyes at people that didn't know what to say because she had been convinced that if they just thought first before they opened their mouth, most of them wouldn't have to stutter.

Now, she's joining their ranks.

_Oh, how deep you have fallen, Lydia Martin!_

She swallows and tries to sit a little straighter, to take control back.

The thing is, she's losing more of it every day.

"I'm not here to ask you to get back together with me."

Jackson lifts an eyebrow. "Oh, you could have fooled me." Pointedly he looks her up and down, but Lydia doesn't flush. "Wearing my shirt - and probably my sweatpants, too? And all of your clothes are on the floor." He nods at her dress and her underwear. "I wonder what impression you actually wanted me to have."

Lydia shrugs as if her state of dressing is nothing, which it kind of is and isn't. She has been in every state of undress in front of him before, and even if he asked her now to get dressed and leave immediately, changing her clothes in front of him wouldn't be a big deal for her. No, wrapping herself up in Jackson's stuff and leaving all her clothes for him to see had been a carefully thought-out decision, not just a spur in the moment thing.

She wants to play with open cards here. Just with him. Just this once. Just tonight.

"I'm not here to ask you to get back together with me," she repeats softly, holding his gaze. "I'm here to ask you to let me stay with you tonight."

As if he feels the need to steady himself, Jackson puts his hand against the door and his eyes betray emotions he usually manages to hide. But tonight he's pale and exhausted and worn down as if he's had a day as awful as Lydia's.

"You really, really shouldn't be here," he says and makes a step towards the bed. "It isn't a good idea for you to be in my room."

"I don't want to be alone, Jackson." Saying those words is like stripping herself bare in front of someone, and it's a lot more difficult and way worse for her because Lydia doesn't have any issues with her body, but she does usually prefer to fake self-confidence and reassurance until things work out the way she wants them to. But tonight she doesn't want to hide in her own head.

Her head has become a scary place. It isn't safe anymore.

Jackson may be safe.

"Not tonight. And I have nowhere else to go."

"Allison," Jackson says, and there's a nervous twitch in his expression, weirdly guilty and yet completely different. Lydia has no idea what it means. "You could go to her. She's your friend." He looks aside, trying to keep the misery that is slipping into his eyes hidden from her. "You aren't alone, Lydia. You have someone."

Lydia laughs. It's short and sounds more like a sob, but she isn't crying because she doesn't have tears to spill anymore. "No. No, I don't." And, wow, admitting it out loud is painful. Lydia has never had many close friends, but she has never thought of herself as completely alone before, either. There had been Danny and Jackson, who'd been closest to her in the past years, and then one day Allison had shown up and Lydia had been surprised how easy it had been to be around her, to laugh with her and to hang out without worrying too much about keeping the Lydia Martin, HBIC, persona firmly in place at all times.

But as nice as it had been, the day of the Formal has changed everything.

Or maybe the change had already happened before that. Maybe it had been that one moment when she'd given into that almost animalistic urge and inane desire to find out what kissing Scott McCall is like. Maybe Allison has never forgiven her for that.

"Lydia," Jackson says and sits down on the edge of the bed next to her, touching her upper arm lightly. "You have her. She's your best friend. I promise you that she'll be there for you. You really should go to her."

It's weird, his words, his expression, really everything. Usually Jackson doesn't open up, ever, he doesn't really like anyone but himself and he has spent the last months hating Scott above everyone else, which should make Scott's girlfriend, or whatever Allison is these days for Scott, someone he ignores, not promotes. But he hasn't made one hateful mention about Scott since he's entered the room and he really seems to believe that going to Allison would be best for Lydia.

Oh, he's wrong!

"I've tried," Lydia admits and looks down at the sheets that are covering the lower half of her body. "I tried talking with her in the past week lots of times and she has always been busy. Except when she lied to my face. After using me for help." And that had hurt the most. Five pages of Archaic Latin, and all Allison had done afterwards was lying and sending Lydia away once again, back to the nightmare that her life has become. "I don't want to be with her. Not tonight."

Tonight she wants to be with someone who, despite hurting her lots of times with words, sometimes even deliberately, has never lied to her. Sometimes the truth had been painful or omitted - Lydia doesn't pretend that what they have had had been anything like the rainbows and puppies love that Allison shares with Scott -, but their relationship had been real.

She isn't looking at him and thus she cannot see the expression on his face, but she knows him, has known him for years and been in a relationship with him for quite some time. Lydia is aware of the way his body unconsciously angles towards her in response to her words. He's looking at her now and he's thinking.

"What about Stiles?"

Shocked, Lydia's eyes fly to his face, but it reassures her that he looks like he wants to kill himself for even suggesting it. However, he doesn't take his question back - although his free hand is clenched into a fist.

"You could go to him." Now Jackson's expression speaks volumes about how sick he feels, saying those words, like they're poison in his mouth. "He likes you. He wouldn't turn you away. Ever."

Lydia shakes her head, and then she flips the strands of hair back again. "Stiles isn't -" She stops. She doesn't know what Stiles isn't or is. She just knows that he isn't for her even if she's aware of the way he looks at her often. But what does that matter? In the night of the last lacrosse game she'd waited in her car for almost ten minutes, not just five, and Stiles hadn't come back. Then the game had ended and Lydia had driven away because she hadn't felt strong enough to face anyone, let alone a victorious Jackson, who would have come to the parking lot very soon.

And since that day Stiles has acted even stranger than usual - and that's something she hadn't thought possible before - and he has also tried to pry into Jackson's personal business today.

Lydia still cannot believe that Stiles had the nerve to do that. What kind of person does he think she is? Would he ever give any secrets away that he shares with Scott?

No, he wouldn't. Stiles doesn't even tell her why she should answer any of his questions.

He's like Allison. A nice front, but nothing but lies behind the façade.

Lydia is sick of them.

At least Jackson is honest about the kind of narcissistic, egocentric person he is. At least with Jackson she knows what she's getting. At least Jackson has not sent her away today just because he has more important things to do.

And it would be understandable if he did that, if he kept ignoring and belittling her like he has done a lot in the past weeks, because fact is that they are exes and exes don't have to be kind to one another. They can ask for distance and get nasty if they don't get it.

Lydia has been unkind to other people she dated before.

Jackson has done that with other people he dated before.

But tonight he doesn't.

Tonight he's acting like it would be in her best interest to be around everyone who isn't him, and that's really not something he ever does because he's always said that he's the best thing that can happen to anyone. Something is wrong with him, too, but if she asks, he'll shut down, put on the smug jackass persona he loves so much and tell her to leave.

Therefore she doesn't ask anything. Instead she says, "I don't want to be with Stiles. He came to me today, you know, and asked about your parents." Immediately Jackson stiffens and pulls his hand away from her arm, but Lydia catches it between her hands and makes him meet her eyes. "I didn't tell him anything, Jackson, and I believe you deserve to know that he's prying into your personal life."

She doesn't know why Stiles is so interested in Jackson's home life all of a sudden, but that late afternoon a few days ago at Scott's place is still fresh in her memory. She remembers the weird behavior of Stiles and Allison, and she remembers Derek Hale standing in front of Scott's house shortly after someone had broken in. She remembers Isaac Lahey and Erica Reyes lying on the ground, and she remembers that quiet guy Boyd picking them up and leaving with them when Allison had ushered Lydia into her car and hadn't answered a single question.

She also knows that Jackson has a restraining order against Scott and Stiles now.

"I'm not going to tell him anything," she adds and he stares at her intently, like he's searching for lies in her face. He won't find any. Lydia has no intention to betray the trust he once gave to her freely.

After a long moment, Jackson nods and looks down at their joined hands.

"It still isn't a good idea, Lydia. I'm ..." His lips twist again. "It's possible I'm not safe."

It's a strange way to put it and she doesn't have a clue what he could possibly be talking about. Jackson is many things, but dangerous? No. And especially not towards her or Danny. Not ever.

The only thing she knows for sure is that he's still not saying that he _wants_ her gone.

And she doesn't want to be alone.

Being alone isn't safe.

Jackson can never be as dangerous as her own mind.

_That man ... that boy ... that creature ..._

_No! Not tonight!_

She tilts her head to the side and tries to smile. It's probably not a very good smile, but right now Jackson isn't looking at her anyway.

"Just tonight. Will you let me stay with you, Jackson?" She waits until he finally meets her eyes, and then she adds, "Tomorrow we can go back to -" To nightmares. To lies. To hallucinations. To bloody hands. To burned houses. To a man, a monster, a creature that haunts her mind and steals moments of her life and her sanity. "Just tonight."

Jackson smiles and it looks like it hurts him just as much to force the expression on his face as it hurts her. "Just tonight," he agrees quietly and stands up. "Tomorrow you need to stay away from me. And -" He turns away and starts undressing, carefully folding his shirt, then his trousers. "And maybe you can try and keep an eye on Danny, too. Just in case."

"Jackson," Lydia starts, feeling a pang of panic because not wanting her around for whatever reasons she can understand, she's crazy and damaged, but Danny? Jackson and Danny have been best friends since they have met at the age of five. "What -? Why -?"

"Don't," Jackson cuts her off, sliding into bed next to her the way he'd so often done. "Don't ask, Lydia. I - I don't know." He turns off the light before he adds softly, "I don't know what's true. Maybe it's all been lies." He sounds lost, and Lydia wishes she could see his face, but she doesn't switch on the light again. She knows that he did it deliberately. Jackson hates to share his true feelings, and she's not going to make him shut down again.

He's breathing in the darkness and that's all she hears in the silence of the room.

It's more real than anything she'd heard in the Hale House.

She shudders violently, hit again by the memory of that man and his face and his words.

"Lydia?" There's a touch and movement, and then Jackson has rolled towards her and is wrapping his arms around her, drawing her to his body. Familiar. Trusted. Safe.

Just for tonight.

It's all she's asking for.

Just one last night without the nightmare.

"I," she whispers. "I don't know anything anymore."

Jackson's hand slips into her hair, stroking her head that has come to rest on his chest. "I can't help you," he says quietly. "I know I should offer to be there for you, but I can't."

Lydia closes her eyes against the tears that are springing to her eyes now. Not because he refuses his help, but because he is genuine in his refusal and isn't just pretending around her like everyone else.

She breathes in, her body relaxing at least a little due to the familiarity of his arms around her and his smell. She has missed him, she has known that before today, but right here and right now she realizes just how badly she misses the times when they had been happy. The times when they had laughed at other people. The times when they had kissed. The times when they had fought. The times when they had made up.

Their relationship hadn't started out on a crush or awkward feelings. It had been the gravitation of being popular and attractive that had drawn them together, convenience that had made them hook up and understanding that had made them choose to pursue a relationship. It hadn't been love at first, and Lydia hadn't thought that it would become love at all, ever. She had just thought that it would be a convenient arrangement for both of them to be together during high school and that they would break up before college and move on without a second thought.

But when Jackson actually broke up with her, there had been feelings. There had been hurt and pain. There had been regret and also a faint glimmer of hope that maybe they would work things out.

She hadn't planned it, hadn't expected it at all, but nowadays she thinks she is possibly genuinely in love with Jackson. It's still not like Allison described her feelings for Scott, but maybe that's because Lydia is more practical and less of a romantic than Allison. Allison and Scott and even Stiles use the word _love_ so easily, but Lydia doesn't because she has seen the marriage of her parents end in hate and disgust and screaming matches.

Jackson never once said that he loved her, either.

The way he's holding her right now, though, is maybe more telling than words would have been.

Lydia wishes she could go back in time, wishes she could get back what she once had and wishes that tomorrow would never come.

"Do you," she starts and feels Jackson's attention return to her again. He isn't sleeping yet, either. "Do you ever wonder if ... Would you go back in time if it was possible and change things?"

His arms tighten around her and he's silent for a few minutes. Lydia doesn't expect him to answer anymore when he finally says, "Yes."

Lydia exhales quietly and nods against his chest. She doesn't ask for more information, doesn't ask what he'd like to change or to what moment he would return. It's nothing she needs to know. All she needs is that one moment right now, that one moment of Jackson being genuine and real and here.

She closes her eyes and prays that the nightmares will stay away. In an attempt to make it happen she focuses on Jackson's heartbeat beneath her ear and on the memories she has of him.

She's almost asleep when she hears his quiet voice - and she isn't sure that she's meant to hear his words at all.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lydia. Not you or Danny."

He sounds young and scared and lonely, and she stays still for a couple of minutes to give them both the option to pretend that she hasn't heard anything, before she moves her hand and curls it around him, clinging to him just as desperately as he's holding her.

Jackson doesn't say anything about it and she counts his heartbeats.

Just for tonight.

Just this one night they will pretend that everything is fine and that their broken pieces fit together and make them whole. They will pretend they aren't alone or fighting against ghosts or whatever it is that Jackson is facing these days.

Tomorrow is going to be different. Tomorrow they will put on their public personas once more and smile - Lydia Martin, HBIC, and Jackson Whittemore, smug jackass that only cares about himself. Tomorrow they will be lonely and fractured again.

But not tonight.

Just one last night.

_Please, give me just one last night._

*

Lydia wakes up twice.

*

The first time, Lydia feels that Jackson suddenly stiffens although they have rolled apart at some point during the night. In an instant Jackson is out of the bed and across the room, and Lydia rolls over in bed, attempting to open her eyes and ask him to come back. But before she can convince her body to obey, she hears the sound of Jackson gasping, and then his window opens and he's gone.

Lydia is too exhausted and tired to get up and look for him, and she falls asleep again, surrounded by his familiar smell and thinking that she's still asleep and just dreaming.

*

The second time, she wakes up and finds herself all alone in the Hale House again. She's still wearing Jackson's clothes, but her fingers are smeared with dirt and blood, and her nails are ruined and broken. Her muscles are aching as if she'd been doing physical work for hours, and her heart is racing, like a scared animal.

The sun is just rising in the East and promising a beautiful day.

Sitting on the floor, Lydia wraps her arms around herself, wishes that Jackson was still holding her and does not cry.

She knows that the night is over and that the morning and the nightmares have come.


End file.
